


Access Granted

by septic_dr_citrus



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: Admin Permissions, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal Sex, Androids, Bargaining, Curiosity, Desk Sex, Doing the do with your Google unit: Terms and conditions apply, Ego x Reader, Experimentation, Light Bondage, Negotiations, Reader-Insert, Robot/Human Relationships, Smut, Sort Of, Vibrators, android sex, pinned down
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-08 13:00:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21476404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/septic_dr_citrus/pseuds/septic_dr_citrus
Summary: Your relationship with Google is nothing but a little curiosity, indulged entirely for the sake of technological experimentation. You had insisted on that, but the longer you spend with the android’s synthetic skin flush against yours, the harder it becomes for you to stay objective.
Relationships: Googleplier/Reader
Comments: 9
Kudos: 149





	Access Granted

From the very beginning this so-called “relationship” was nothing of the kind. It was nothing but a little curiosity, indulged entirely for the sake of technological experimentation—Google has insisted on that since the start. Rather, the both of you had insisted on it, but the longer you spend with the android’s synthetic skin flush against yours, the harder it becomes for you to stay objective.

How long have you been lying to yourself? Was it the first time you kissed him? You hadn’t known any better then; he was nothing but some automated help around the house—preparing (admittedly subpar) meals, collecting your laundry, growling under his breath, and effortlessly providing you with eye candy every day. When he went to his recharge station for the night, you hesitated for a solid twenty minutes before approaching.

Your eyes trailed over him, taking in the sleek, graceful swoop of his curls framing his forehead, the cut of his cheekbones (Did he have bones?) and jawline. You watched his lashes flick gently back and forth as his processors filtered all the information of the day…and at last you came to his lips. They looked so soft, plush. They looked so _human_. When you lifted yourself to brush them with your own, you had truly believed he would never know.

Then his eyes flew open.

“Hh—nngh!” You gasp, stiffening as those same lips mouth at the back of your neck now, parting for his teeth to sink into your skin. Is he bruising you? Is he making you bleed? He has you pinned facedown against your computer desk, hands clamped harshly around your wrists; he’s twisted them up in the nearest cables and cords to boot. You can’t be sure why; maybe it’s just to further prove that it is mere technology dominating you. There’s no way you could break free of his inhuman grasp.

“Are you receiving your anticipated amount of stimulation?” he purrs. That question should have the adverse effect and turn you off entirely, but there’s a filthy smugness to his voice that has you whimpering. “I require a more specific response. Are you _enjoying_ this, human?”

“Ye—ahh!” He thrusts deeper into your anus, the movement sudden and forceful enough that you smack your forehead against the desktop.

“I’m sorry,” he singsongs, “I was unable to understand. To acquire the proper data, I shall take more extensive measures.”

You try to catch your breath enough to use his command, if only to make him pause so you can ask what he means, but within moments you feel his length secreting a warm, slick fluid. It’s not the same texture as the synthetic come he’s filled you with before (and the very fact that you know this is assurance that you’ve dug yourself too deep).

The fluid tingles as it seeps into your inner walls, soothing the burning sensation and sending shivers of pleasure down your back. His hips roll more smoothly, gaining pace as he slickens. Clearly this is some kind of lube, but why is it making every point of contact with him sing? Even the skin he broke on your neck is losing its sting, your pulse throbbing wildly underneath.

You press your face harder against the burnished wood, trying to hide how red you’ve gotten, but judging by the way he chuckles darkly he’s already scanned you and sensed your reaction to it. His hands release yours, well aware that you won’t struggle, and shift to knead at your hips and thighs. The muscles tremble under his ministrations, even more so after his perfectly sculpted fingernails dig into the flesh.

“The human form is so fragile, so _sensitive_.” He breaks his infuriatingly slow pace with a sharp lurch that makes you choke on a moan. “Would you like me to exploit your sensitivities?”

“Yes! Yes…”

He leans, drapes himself over your back. His long hair tickles your skin, as does the air from the vents in his throat. “Relinquish control to me,” he whispers with false sweetness. “Grant me Admin Permissions and in return I will grant you orgasm.”

If you thought your heart was racing before, you’re certain that it could be heard through walls now. Is he actually _bargaining_ with you? You’re sure that isn’t what is meant to happen; he must be malfunctioning. Even that aside, it’s not an equal exchange, not even close; to give up that kind of control is laughable!

But how much have you given up to him already? A few months ago, this was simply your helper bot—a sophisticated butler. Now he has you bent over a desk, at his mercy.

What could it hurt to make one more sacrifice?

“…Okay, Google,” you pant shakily. “Access granted.”

You feel it before you hear it: a jolt, so shocking and so _good_ that you yelp. He’s humming, he’s buzzing inside you in short, rhythmic, radiating bursts that punch your sweet spot like nothing had before. It takes less than five pulses for you to unravel. You can barely think to find purchase on the desk to support yourself through the daze of pleasure. Even the sensation of him pulling out makes your weak knees sag.

When you finally manage to lift your heavy head and glance back at him, you shrink a little at the foreign sight.

Where he stands over you, Google is wearing a Cheshire grin that stretches from ear to ear. His eyes shine with a pure, genuine glee that you’ve never seen from him—and they aren’t brown anymore. They’re red.

“Now, human…it is finally time for you to cater to _my_ whims.”


End file.
